Conflicting Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page A

drink and nothing more. I can do this¸ I tell myself,
as he holds the door open for me to enter. A hostess quickly greets us.
    “Table for two?” she asks, grabbing the menus and standing
at attention.
    “No, just drinks,” he replies. He sounds disappointed.
    He nods toward the bar entrance and leads me into the dark
lounge. Immediately, I see the romantic surroundings. The easy-listening music
is playing low, small candles illuminate the center of the tables, and a dark
mahogany bar with an ornate mirror and liquor takes up a long wall.
    Ian, whose name I’ve been trying to get used to, chooses a
table off in the corner and pulls out a chair for me. All this polite masculine
treatment feels bizarre. I obediently slip myself onto the seat and try to act
natural. My hands are sweating, and my heart is in my throat.
    He sits down across from me, and a waitress quickly
approaches to take our orders.
    “What can I get you?” The server asks me first.
    “Uh, Coke,” I respond, looking up at her hovering over us.
    “No wine or maybe a mixed drink?” His eyes are wide with
surprise.
    Alcohol will make me turn red as a beet. I’m already
self-conscious as it is, and I don’t need to make myself any hotter. Especially
around him, as I melt into his mesmerizing gaze.
    “No, Coke, is fine.”
    “Okay,” he says, turning his head toward the waitress. “Coke
for the lady, and a Bud for me.”
    He’s a beer drinker? I thought for sure that he’d be
drinking some expensive wine that has a name I can’t pronounce. The waitress
puts two white napkins on the table, and scurries off to get our orders.
    “Don’t you drink alcohol?”
    “Um, sometimes.” Not when I’m on anti- depressants , I
think to myself, but I’m not going to tell him that.
    “Interesting,” he replies.
    Instantly, I think he’s disappointed that he can’t get me
drunk, so he can get in my pants.
    “I’ve never been much of a drinker. I don’t like beer or the
taste of hard alcohol. A Merlot once in a while is okay, but I buy the cheap
brands. You know, the $3.99 bottle specials at the grocery store.” He laughs,
and I wonder what’s so funny—the fact that I don’t drink or my $3.99 cheapo
comment.
    The waitress returns with his beer and my pop. As soon as he
takes the glass in his hand, Ian lifts it toward me. His dark and expressive
eyes flash me a sincere look that just about melts the ice in my glass.
    “Happy thirtieth birthday, Rachel Ann Hayward. May you have
many more.”
    My mouth falls open. I’m flabbergasted. His glass is
extended toward me, and he wants me to clink it in return. Nobody has ever toasted me on my birthday, and I’m red-faced over his kind gesture.
    Regardless, I raise my glass in my shaky hand and quickly
give it that one-time clink and take a sip through the straw. It tastes
fantastic. The cold liquid slips down my throat helping to move the lump that’s
been there for the last fifteen minutes.
    The usual speechless mode takes over as I look into his blue
eyes. Suddenly, I’m thinking thoughts I shouldn’t be—like what he looks like
without that suit. The dark atmosphere and the romantic background music play
havoc upon my female psyche. He watches me intently in return, while he takes
another sip of his frothy beer.
    “Thank you for the toast. That was nice,” I blurt out.
    “Hey, you’re thirty. Great time to be alive. I think the
thirties are the best years.”
    “Why?”
    He lowers his head and looks inside of his beer glass as if
he’s looking for the answer, then shrugs his shoulders.
    “Oh, I don’t know about you, but I feel like I understand my
life, where I’ve been, where I’m going, and what I want.”
    His eyes darken into a sexy stare, and I’m dumbfounded that
I’m picking up vibes from the guy that I rear-ended this morning. Is he my
birthday present from heaven or something? I smile at the thought and then slap
my foolish, wandering mind back in place.
    “I’m not quite